


Big Fish in a Small Pond

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Out in the ocean, there aren't many things that truly threaten Slade anymore. He's lived a long time, he's bigger and nastier than most other things in the waves, and what is out there that can hurt him he knows how to avoid. Storms are one of those things. Swim deep, stay away from land, and storms are nothing more than something to be waited out. Usually.





	Big Fish in a Small Pond

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Just some basic SladeJay for you here, with bonus mers because I love mers. I'm not _entirely_ sure where I want this to actually end up, so I'm going to feel it out as I go and see what ending I want. Thus the tags, above. If anything drastic does change in terms of content, I'll be sure to let you guys know in the notes, before the next chapter. For now, enjoy!

It's going to be a hell of a storm. Slade knew it was coming, hard to miss the mass of black clouds heading his direction throughout the day, but it's not something that he bothers worrying about. Storms are dangerous, if you're a fresh-from-the-egg guppy with no instinct, but Slade's been alive too long to pay much attention to them. Swim deep, don't be an idiot, and the winds and lightning are just another nuisance to be waited out. Nothing he hasn't done a thousand times before.

He only cares enough to make sure that he stops to rest before it catches up, catching a quick couple of fish and then settling in for a nap against one of the shallow reefs near an island. He has some time left before the storm reaches him, enough time to take advantage of the plentiful fish and shelter here for a bit, then get away from it before the storm crashes in. Not good to be too near land during a storm.

It's the taste on his tongue that wakes him. Sharp, familiar in general but not in the details. Another mer.

His eye snaps open, mouth opening to take a stronger taste of the water. He uncurls with a quick push of his tail, staying low to the sand as he turns, scanning through the shallows. He's not interested in fighting for territory he doesn't even want, but he doesn't have any interest in turning his back on a threat either. He has other ways he'd prefer to die.

There. Green and silver scales, big. Not bigger than him, of course. Young, if the lack of too many scars and his fresher appearance is accurate.

He's spotted in the same moment. The mer charges him immediately, spinning around the edges of the reef with ease. Not interested in talking, apparently. Fine with him. The young ones are always aggressive.

His hiss bares his teeth, and he meets the charge. He's fought all his life, had the talent to survive even before he really learned how, play-hunting and nipping at his shell-mates' fins as he grew bigger and faster and nastier than any of them. This mer will learn to be afraid of him, one way or another. He’ll make sure of it.

Despite knowing that he has the upper hand, the fight lasts longer than he wants it to. His attacker is as fast as he is, and relentless even after he rakes wounds down through the scales at the base of his tail and over both biceps. Claws rake his chest and the back side of his ribs in trade before he manages to slam his tail into the mer's back hard enough to stun him. He only needs those couple moments to wind up and deal a second blow to his side as well, slamming him into the sand. Enough to break an arm and draw a shriek, the reactive writhing of his tail stirring the sand up into the water.

That does the trick. The mer backs away from him, holding his arm close to his chest as he flattens back against one of the closer reefs. The upwards tilt to his chin is surrender enough, paired with that retreat.

Slade eyes him, considering the grey eyes and brown hair, and the lean fitness of his muscle. Alright. Decent fighter. But he's not in the mood. Besides, he doesn't tend to like mers that are reckless enough to come after him without stopping to think. He's fully aware of how dangerous he is, and how much of it is obvious. Anyone that attacks him without provocation isn't smart enough to be worth his attention.

He hisses, a flick of his tail backing him up far enough to allow space for the mer to flee. “Run,” he orders, letting his voice carry his disinterest and his irritation both. “Next time I tear out your throat, hatchling.”

He takes the opening, still fast despite his arm, trailing blood in the water as he flees past the line of the reef and towards deeper water.

Slade watches till he's out of sight, and only then turns his attention to his own wounds. The claw marks on his chest are long, from near his collarbone to his navel, but relatively minor. They'll heal cleanly enough. The ones on his ribs, however, send a sharp shock of pain through him when he tries to twist to see them. Enough to take his breath for a moment.

He reaches back a hand, feeling carefully along the gashes. Deep, not enough to threaten his life, but they'll certainly make things difficult for a bit. Any tight turns might rip them further, and he can only lose so much blood before that weakens him too.

Damn.

He takes a look up through the surface, squinting through the glare of the sun at the top to peer at the sky. Clouds. Heavy, dark clouds, far too close for comfort. He bares his teeth at them, trying to make the calculations in his head. He had the time to get away from the island before, but does he still? The fight took up too much time, and the wounds he took will slow him down.

He has to try, regardless. Staying near the land is too dangerous with that storm coming in. Need to pick a different direction than that other mer went, though. He doesn't want a second fight either.

The storm gains on him as he swims, faster than he can get away from it with his wounds slowing his pace. The world goes dark, flashes of light threatening to blind him, the waves reaching deep to pull him towards the surface. He fights it, but the pull worsens as the waves build higher, and then suddenly he's being yanked into the rise of one. His tail breaks the surface, then his head. Sound crashes into his ears, just before the wave slams him back into the water.

Slade bares his teeth instinctively, trying to get deep enough to avoid being pulled up again. The second wave tosses him out in front of it, crashing down on his back before he can orient and knocking the breath from his lungs, driving him deeper. He struggles to breathe, the churn of the water blocking his sight. His gills flare wide and get as much froth as water. Wind howls loud enough for him to hear it even through the crash of the waves, and even while his body struggles and spins, instinct reminds him of something else.

Crashing waves means land. Land means danger.

Fire burns across his back, but Slade puts all his strength into stabilizing and ignores the pain. He has to make it out. He _has_ to. After all his life, he refuses to let his undoing be some storm and some unnamed island.

All the power he has is enough to wrest himself from the pull of the next wave, and then the one after that. He dives deeper, cuts away at an angle to avoid fighting the current directly. He can't see the island through the turmoil of the water, but all he has to do to get away from it is go against the waves.

For a few moments, he thinks he has it.

Then the water turns against him, drags him high again as if the beats of his tail are nothing. The power of life and nature, throwing him through the air as if he were a hatchling again, young and struggling to fight nothing more than the tide. His teeth and his claws are worthless against its might. He should never have let himself be caught.

The wave slams him into something. _Hard_.

Pain blooms down his side as bone gives, and his shriek is lost to the winds. His claws scrape over what feels like stone as the wave wrenches him away again. Lightning flashes, the thunder deafening him when it explodes against his senses not even a breath later. His arm presses to his side, and the pain makes the world dim even before the crash of the water throws him down again.

He hits sand, and everything blackens.

* * *

The wind against his skin is the first thing he feels. The breeze is warm, gentle.

The memory that that isn't anything like what it was drives him to consciousness.

Slade pries his eye open, immediately squinting as the sun beats down on his face, his head tilting back. His teeth bare against the discomfort and he rolls his head to the side, trying to get an understanding of where he is.

There's water up to his chest, with his head and shoulders propped back against the rock edge of a shelf that lines the… pool. It's large, but he can see all the edges from where he lies. No river entrance, no entrance at all unless there's a tunnel beneath the water. Past the edges of the pool are… plants. Green, thick, both the smaller ones as well as larger trees. He can hear birdsong.

He's on the island. He must be.

He begins to shift, but before he can do more than press his palms to the rock wall and begin to lever upwards pain screams down the length of his side.

The shriek catches in his throat, but he does hiss through his teeth, leaning his head back. Now he's moved he can feel the loose shift in his chest as he inhales and his lungs expand. A cautious glance down, into the clear waters of the pool, shows him the spread of black bruising down across his ribs. He isn't dead, so the breaks must not have been angled enough to spear him through, but they'll take time to heal. Too much time; he'll be all but defenseless if any other mer runs across him in this condition.

Slowly, he shifts each arm, relieved to find them functional. No pain, apart from what the movement draws from his side. There are bruises along his skin there, too, and a couple shallow scrapes and scratches, but nothing to suggest real damage.

A careful flick of the end of his tail, however, is less relieving. It's a sharp flash of pain, enough to make him press his teeth together and swallow another hiss between them. The water's clear enough for him to see the end of his tail, down near the bottom of the pool, but the distortion of the ripples refuses to allow him a good look. With his ribs in the condition they are, bringing it up to him is also probably out of the question. How annoying.

Well, the pain isn't deep or overwhelming, so it's more likely a cut or some torn scales instead of something broken. He can find out once he's capable of drawing it closer to him.

There's a rustle of movement in the bushes, and Slade jerks his head around to stare that direction. He can retreat beneath the water, if he has to. The pool is decently deep; most things won't chase a mer into the water.

Whatever it is moves closer, and then a figure steps out from behind one of the trees, a hand bracing against the trunk. Human. That at least explains how he got here; humans would have been able to drag him to the depths of the island, if they wanted to. Why they would want to is the dangerous part. Slade's had run ins with enough humans to know they're best avoided or killed, whichever gets them away faster. Unless he feels like hunting one of them.

At seeing his gaze, the human stills. He's tall, for one of their kind. Messy black hair, and a sea-colored pair of blue-green eyes. Startled, but it only takes a couple moments for him to step forward, out past the edge of the plants and into the clearing around the water. Slade only watches him, but out of sight he slides his claws out to their full length.

"You're awake," the human says, voice low and cautious. He has a bundle of cloth in one hand. "Hi. I uh… I'm glad; thought there might be something worse. Internal."

Slade narrows his eye. He shifts, wanting a better angle than to be lying back, but the moment he tries to move the pain from his side takes his breath. He jerks in reaction to the pain, which only makes it worse, and then he's clutching at the side of the pool with one hand, his head against the ground and claws scraping the rock as he struggles to breathe.

"Careful!" the human exclaims, suddenly moving forward again. "You're hurt pretty badly; you shouldn't be moving. You'll open up your wounds, or—”

The human cuts off when he hisses, warning him from closing any more of the distance. He can't quite find the breath to fully speak, but he lets his secondary set of teeth slide down and bares them, making it as clear as possible that the human had better stay away from him unless he wants a chunk of his flesh ripped out.

He can see the human pale, gaze drawn to his teeth. But then he exhales, and sinks down to his knees. "Okay. Look, I know you understand me. I don't want to hurt you; I'm only trying to help. I brought cloth—” he holds up the bundle in his hand "—to bind your ribs. And…” He sets the cloth down, carefully unties a knot holding the top together, and it falls apart. "Fish. I'd guess you probably like live better, but these are at least fresh."

Slade considers the pile of small fish. It rings odd for a moment, a courting gift in the middle of this confrontation, before he reminds himself that he's dealing with a human, not another mer. To a mer, a gift of food might be an indication of interest, but as far as he knows humans don't do that. Not that he understands what other reason there could be. Humans behave strangely, more often than not, so perhaps he can just excuse it as that, until he learns what the reason is. The human doesn't seem outright aggressive towards him, unlike most of his kind, which is at least preferable to having spears or nets thrown at him. Better than one of them finding him hurt this badly, too.

He takes a careful breath, testing how deep he can inhale before it hurts. Deep enough. "You brought me here?" he asks, relaxing to let his other teeth slide away again.

The human seems a little relieved about that. "Yeah. I found you on the shore; it didn't seem safe to leave you there with injuries like those. I know a little about healing, so I thought maybe I could help."

Help? A mer wouldn't help any other that wasn't already its mate. Why should they? Any mer crippled has clearly become weak; not worth wasting time on. To bring him to a safer, secluded pool, offer him food? Why would he do that?

"Why?" he asks, holding back anything but the question.

The human frowns a bit, shifting where he sits. "You're hurt. It wouldn't have been right, to leave you like that."

He seems sincere enough, not that it makes any sense. Maybe it makes sense to a human. Either way, if the human comes close enough to 'help,' then he'll be close enough to gut before he can do any harm. Even injured, he's capable of killing one little human, especially if he comes into the water.

"Alright," Slade agrees, eyeing the small pile of fish. He is hungry. Not too bad, but his body will need energy to heal, and food will help with that.

The human clears his throat, and carefully shifts forward to bring the offering closer to him. Close enough that they're within reach of even Slade's currently limited range of movement. A hand passes close enough he could grab it, but he lets it pass.

Slade's slow and methodical about how he moves this time, shifting as painlessly as possible to rest once more with his back against the shelf and shoulders above it. His head stays turned to watch the human, and keep the fish in view, and the angle is decent enough that he can lift one arm backwards to take the first from the pile.

They're not long dead; no different than any offering of a meal that someone might bring to court another. Nothing offensive.

The human shifts a bit backwards, and begins to pry the coverings off his feet, one at a time. Slade watches, mildly curious but not sensing any threat in the behavior. The top portion of cloth goes next, baring the skin of his chest and upper arms. Not an unpleasant view. Above the waist, the human looks just like any of his kind. Lean muscle, smooth skin, marked by a few scars but nothing severe enough to suggest either frequent fights or frequent losses.

Slade expects the bottom portion of cloth to come off next, but the human stops, legs folding in on themselves to leave him sitting. The attention seems to make him nervous.

"If I'm going to bind your ribs I have to get in the water with you," the human rushes to explain, like he thinks his actions need explanation. "Clothes aren't really supposed to get soaked."

He swallows the fish in his mouth. "But you're going to leave that part on?" he asks idly, with a flick of his gaze towards the cloth covering the lower part of the human.

The human startles, for some reason. A faint redness rises to his cheeks, which Slade considers with curiosity. It would be embarrassment, on a mer, but what is there to be embarrassed about? The offering of food? Or the fault in logic, of failing to take off the other part of his cloth when he's said it's not supposed to be wet? Or maybe it's some oddity of human culture; they do always seem to want to protect that skin of theirs. Legs especially.

"I…” The human swallows, looking away. "Yeah. Yeah I'm gonna keep the pants on."

Pants. Hm. Well, it doesn't matter to him one way or another.

The rest of the fish go quickly enough. They're relatively small; easy to swallow in quick bites. Filling, though. Enough for a meal. The pain won't let him relax, but he does feel satiated. Less tempted to sink his teeth into the human boy, at any rate.

He only watches, as the human collects the cloth the fish were in, and then starts to move towards the water. He pauses at the edge, out of reach of Slade's claws, but wary of them, judging by how he's glancing sideways. A breath and a moment later and he slides down into the pool. Slade can feel the ripple of the water from the movement. It only comes up to the human's waist, out here by the edge. He wades closer, then hesitates again, just out of range of a grab.

His fingers are tight around the cloth, held up above the water. “I’m going to bind your ribs,” he repeats, pausing like he expects some kind of confirmation.

“You said that before,” Slade points out, amused despite himself at the wariness. “What does it mean?”

A step closer. He could grab the human now, if he wanted to. Cut a tendon in his leg and watch him bleed and struggle. A little crippled human wouldn't stand any chance of escaping him here in his domain.

“Well, when humans break ribs, we take cloth and wrap it around their chests to help it heal right. It restricts movement, helps make sure the bones set together right. I don’t know much about mers, but uh, your torsos look pretty similar to ours, I figured it’s probably the same idea.” Another pause, an exhale, and the human steps over him, legs spread above him. “It’s going to hurt so just, don’t bite me, okay?”

Slade doesn’t offer anything, one way or another. After a couple moments, the human exhales and lowers to his knees, the new depth bringing the water high up on his chest. It brushes his legs against either side of Slade’s tail too, which is interesting. He doesn’t believe he’s ever had another this close to him without it being a fight. Or mating.

The human brings the cloth to his chest, leaning close to him to bring it around his back. When he tightens it, it does hurt. Slade scrapes his claws along the rock and hisses, and the human freezes. He’s stiff, close enough that Slade could close teeth on his throat before he could get away.

He doesn’t.

After a second the human continues, and Slade leans his head forward towards the boy’s shoulder and takes out his pain on the rock under his claws instead of the skin in front of his teeth. The human tenses with every sound from him, but doesn’t stop again. Not until he does something with both hands at Slade’s side and then exhales sharply, leaning back a little.

“There. Done.”

Slade opens his eye, taking a careful breath as he loosens the grip he has on the rock. He can feel the restriction, and he doesn’t think he likes the feeling, but he’ll admit that the sharp pain from before is eased. The loose shift of bone in his chest isn’t as obvious anymore either. It aches, but the humans might be onto something with this.

“Haven’t done one of these in water before,” the human’s saying, “but I think it’ll hold. I can do it again, if it doesn’t.”

He strikes. The human jerks, but not fast enough to escape the grip he gets on both wrists, and not strong enough to get out once he has them.

“Woah! Hey, don’t—!”

Slade hisses again, not meaning it this time, but the human shuts up all the same. Goes tense, chin ducked and wrists pulling lightly against his grip.

He could kill him. It would be easy, and the body would be a good meal; enough to save over a day or two, before it started to be unappetizing. But the human did help him, for some reason. Even fed him. Maybe he’ll let this go on, for now. He’s curious to see what the human will do, and as long as there’s no threat to him, why not indulge? A hunt can be as much fun as a kill, even if it’s only play.

He tugs the human closer. Close enough he can smell the sweat on him, even with how the open air reduces his sense of smell to almost nothing. In contrast he can clearly hear the rushing pound of the human’s pulse, with his ear so close to the vulnerable side of his throat.

“What’s your name?” he asks, letting his voice come out low and smooth. A tone he’s used to coax sailors to the edge of their boats before; when he was young, and his first mate’s displeasure hadn’t cost him the use of his other eye.

The human’s breath is uneven. Sharp. “Jason.”

Jason. It doesn’t mean anything to him, but most human names don’t.

“ _Jason_ ,” he says anyway, letting the sound roll out across his tongue. “My name is Slade.”

* * *

Every instinct he has is screaming.

Jason tries to breathe in at least a little steadily, thinks he mostly fails. "Slade. Okay. Let go of me."

He tries not to think too much about the teeth he saw earlier; a whole forest of needle-sharp points in front of the human teeth behind them. He especially tries not to think about how close they are to his throat, or the clawed fingers wrapped around his wrists. He knew mers were strong, and fast, but he wasn't expecting one with a whole side of broken ribs to still be able to do that.

It was stupid to get this close, stupid to get in the water, stupid to even take the mer off the beach in the first place. This is what gets him in trouble, every time. Just trying to help, but everything goes to hell. Should have left the clearly, obviously dangerous predator on the sand. It didn't have to be his problem.

Why does he _always_ have to make shit like this his problem?

Slade hums, and he can feel the air rush across his neck. "I will. Soon."

Maybe it's not smart, but what immediately comes out of his mouth is, "How soon?"

Whatever. It's not like being smart is something that he's actually having any success with today. If he's going to get his throat ripped out, he might as well just say whatever he wants to. It's not like it's going to make any difference. Probably.

The laugh against his throat is deep, rumbling. "When I want to. Relax, little human, I'm not hungry anymore. I'm not going to eat you."

Oh yeah, cause getting eaten was definitely the main part of what he was worried about. Not the bleeding out or the dying or anything.

"Oh good," he mutters, maybe a little faintly. "Glad the fish made the difference about you not _eating_ me. Not the helping you or anything."

Another amused rumble of sound, thumbs sliding over the skin of his wrists. “Most humans are only interested in hunting or fleeing me.” Light pressure pushes him back an inch, until Slade’s one light blue eye meets his. The other aims his direction as well, but it’s milky and scarred. Jason would bet anything it doesn’t work. “Not you, hm?”

His hands clench, but he manages to respond, “I’m not most humans,” before the silence stretches too long. Luckily, being focused on the threat Slade represents stops his thoughts from spiraling too far after that statement, like they normally would.

Slade’s mouth curves in a small grin, way less terrifying without the whole mouthful of shredding teeth, but still Jason feels a chill slide down his spine. If he had just one second free he could slam his fist into that injured side. It would down the mer, at least for a bit. Maybe long enough for him to get out of the water, and once he’s on land he’ll be safe. Safer, anyway.

Or maybe he’d just get his wrists ripped to shreds and bleed out right here in the water like a complete dumbass.

He feels the scrape of Slade’s claws along his skin, and panic more than anything makes him blurt, “You need me.”

Slade stills, gaze lifting back up from his throat to meet his eyes again. “Oh?”

It’s true, he’d thought about all this before he got in the pool, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get his breathing under control and actually say it. “You’re hurt. You don’t know which direction the ocean is, and you can’t get back out there like this.” A jerky twitch of his chin over one shoulder is the closest he can get to gesturing. “No fish in this pool. You need me to bring you food until you’re healed enough to go back to the ocean; you’ll starve, otherwise.”

A tilt of Slade’s head, and an assessing sweep of his gaze, feels a lot like Slade planning which bits of him to eat first. Which apparently is completely accurate because what he says is, “You’ll last long enough for quite a few meals.”

If his, “Not enough,” comes out choked, well, that feels like a totally justifiable reaction to a mer thinking about how many meals he can be turned into.

The curve of Slade’s mouth is smaller this time, more a smirk than a grin. “Brave of you, to try and negotiate with me. Most humans skip straight to the begging.” Another slow slide of thumbs over his wrists. “I like this better.”

Jason sucks in a sharp breath when Slade lets go.

He scrambles away, keeping exactly enough coordination to not kick the thick base of Slade’s tail as he gets away from straddling it. Usually the water doesn’t phase him much, but the panic’s made it an enemy, and even only waist-deep it feels like a trap. Paranoia says he’s going to get grabbed again before he manages to get out of the water, but Slade only watches him splash away with an amused quirk of his lips. The soaked weight of his pants drags him down, making it hard to get over the ledge, into the dirt.

The need to get away drives him to crawl further, almost into the bushes past the strip of dirt, until he’s absolutely sure that Slade can’t reach him, no matter how fast he moves. It takes a couple more shaky, deep breaths for him to start to come down from the fluttery fight-or-flight tightness in his chest. Only then does he manage to pull his hands up and look at his wrists. There are faint red lines, but no torn skin. No blood.

He shoves out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his pants to try to get at least a little of the wet dirt that’s now caked on off of them. Like hell is he going back to the water to wash them off.

“You’re a bastard,” he spits, voice still shaking a bit.

Slade only looks amused, head tilted to the side to watch him.

He moves exactly close enough to grab his other clothes before retreating again. "If you're this much of an ass all the time, it's no wonder no one wants to help you!"

That gets him a wider grin, and Slade moves, bracing hands to lever himself up from the shelf. It's slow, probably to avoid hurting too much, but his voice is steady when he drawls, "No one except for you."

Jason blinks, and in the moment it takes for him to process that Slade lets go of the shelf and sinks down, vanishing under the surface. After a moment where there's nothing but some slow ripples, Jason pushes up onto his knees so he can look down into the pool. The water's clear enough that he can see the winding mass of black with a striped orange-ish bronze making up Slade's tail, curling around in a big swathe as he settles at the deepest part of the pool.

Way too far in for him to reach. Maybe Slade could hear him if he yelled, but he's pretty sure he'd feel like an idiot standing at the edge of the pool and shouting at it. There's nobody else on the island to see, but… God, what an irritating way to make sure he gets the last word. Not _fair_ to just go underwater like that, knowing he can't follow.

Jason's teeth grind together. That son of a… No. Screw him. Let Slade go hungry until he feels like coming back; he's only doing this because it felt right, not to get harassed and threatened when he's only trying to help.

He tugs on his shirt, grabs his shoes, and stalks off into the undergrowth.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Deep End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297305) by [BluebellDestroyerOfWorlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluebellDestroyerOfWorlds/pseuds/BluebellDestroyerOfWorlds)




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